Javert/Valjean fic
A short piece I wrote instead of paying attention in English class.
Title: The Universe
Rating: PG
Pairing: VJ/J
Summary: cliché I know - Javert before the bridge.
Note:This is not intended to be Hugo's style, I write the way I write and that's that.
He stood at the edge of the world, watching as the water rushed over, plunged over into nothing. Watching as people fell, tangled and lost. Watching as slowly the world began bending in on itself, perfectly in half - one end toughing the other.
His eyes snapped closed. Tight. He didn't want to see it break, it shatter into a thousand shards, never to be put back together. He didn't want to be standing along among the screams and cries of the dying. The dying, dead world. The diseased, delirious world.
But it didn't happen. The world stayed bent, never snapping. Just bent, warped. And through the twisted shadows of it all came the sound. Faint at first, light at first, then louder. Sound of soles on tile, coble stone, marble, wood. Every surface possible. And he knew who was coming.
"Javert." A man, the man. Standing behind him and he, Javert, knew that the man's hand is outstretched towards him, him of all people. "Please Javert, come with me." Turning around he saw the world squeeze, tighten, straining against something - itself.
"No." He paused, the hand didn't waver. "I can't, go, go away!" And it was snapping, shattering, all around him. Shards, glass of mirrors, himself.
"Please I'll help you."
"No!" The world, the glass, crunched and shuddered as he knelt, slowly gathering it all back. And Javert knew he was behind him still, bending low and helping him piece the world back together.
Title: The Universe
Rating: PG
Pairing: VJ/J
Summary: cliché I know - Javert before the bridge.
Note:This is not intended to be Hugo's style, I write the way I write and that's that.
He stood at the edge of the world, watching as the water rushed over, plunged over into nothing. Watching as people fell, tangled and lost. Watching as slowly the world began bending in on itself, perfectly in half - one end toughing the other.
His eyes snapped closed. Tight. He didn't want to see it break, it shatter into a thousand shards, never to be put back together. He didn't want to be standing along among the screams and cries of the dying. The dying, dead world. The diseased, delirious world.
But it didn't happen. The world stayed bent, never snapping. Just bent, warped. And through the twisted shadows of it all came the sound. Faint at first, light at first, then louder. Sound of soles on tile, coble stone, marble, wood. Every surface possible. And he knew who was coming.
"Javert." A man, the man. Standing behind him and he, Javert, knew that the man's hand is outstretched towards him, him of all people. "Please Javert, come with me." Turning around he saw the world squeeze, tighten, straining against something - itself.
"No." He paused, the hand didn't waver. "I can't, go, go away!" And it was snapping, shattering, all around him. Shards, glass of mirrors, himself.
"Please I'll help you."
"No!" The world, the glass, crunched and shuddered as he knelt, slowly gathering it all back. And Javert knew he was behind him still, bending low and helping him piece the world back together.